The Pirate Bride
by ZDrive
Summary: Fem!Allen. "I'm going to kill you," said Allen, eye twitching as she made stabbing motions with a spoon. "I'll dig out your eyeballs and shove them down your throat if you DARE touch me with your stupid girly hands. I WILL NOT MARRY YOU!"


**The Pirate Bride**

**Summary: Fem!Allen. "I'm going to kill you," said Allen, eye twitching as she made stabbing motions with a spoon. "I'll dig out your eyeballs and shove them down your throat if you DARE touch me with your stupid girly hands. I WILL NOT MARRY YOU!"**

**Rated T**

**Humor/Romance**

**Kanda Yuu and Allen Walker**

**Gender-bender: Female Allen**

**I no own D. Gray-Man. If I did, it would be rated M/R, 'cause Kanda would be tying Allen to his bedpost and have his way with him. Whenever. He. WANTS.**

***Drool***

…

**Chapter 1**

"_**Once upon a time…"**_

"_Mother, you _always _say that for the beginning of a story," a little girl with shoulder length snow white hair protested. She frowned deeply at the older woman, silvery eyes gone as stormy as the thunder clouds that raged over the thrashing waters of a furious ocean. _

_The woman chuckled and swept back her light brown hair, soft, half-lidded grey eyes looking fondly down at her daughter. It was late at night in the year 1752, in the large town of Sea Crest, settled down as near to the sea as she dared, her sea ports stretched out boldly in the wide harbor. In the Walker Mansion, the woman and her child, the future heir of the Walker family nobles, lounged in the little girl's bedroom; both dressed in soft satin nightgowns by the crackling fire in a large room, filled with toys and paintings of the beach and storming skies. The mother used to tease her daughter about them since they already lived nearby the sea. But the child simply said, 'I never get tired of the ocean, mother' and that was that._

"_Well how would you like me to start it," the mother murmured, falling on her side, chin propped with her hand. _

"_Something legit, of course," said the child. "I want adventure, and something with the sea, and maybe even pirates!"_

_Her mother faked a groan of despair. "We _always _talk about pirates," she mocked._

_The girl huffed. She crossed her arms and looked away, pouting. "Pirates have swords," she defended. "I like swords."_

"_And apparently outlaws," her mother chuckled. She hugged her daughter. "Allen…you know, I never thought I would have such a sweet daughter who loved pirates. Maybe one day, you will become a pirate. Hopefully not, though. Or maybe…you'll melt the heart of one!"_

"_Ew." Allen wrinkled her nose. "Mama, that's gross."_

"_You won't be thinking that when you fall in love, sweetie," she teased, giggling._

_Her daughter, Allen, giggled as well. "Maybe. But I swear to you, mother-" Her eyes lit with smoldering ashes, spitting sparks and life fire as she leapt up on her bed. "-I will forever stay a virgin maiden,"-(she pretended to know what a virgin was, she made a note to ask her father later)-"who fights for her country on the seas with her loyal crewmates! My name will be exulted and respected, as much as the name of my ship's!"_

_"Oh?" Her mother, Felicia, raised a brow as she watched her child jump up and down. She smiled. "And what will your ship's name be?"_

_"Crown Clown, of course," Allen scoffed, as if the very notion of naming it anything else was preposterous. _

_Felicia sighed, but smiled warmly, chin propped up in the cradle of her palm. She had almost forgotten how much Allen adored clowns, for the sole sake of them brining color and laughter and warm, happy memories. _

_"...Mama," said Allen softly, looking down at her mother. Her mother smiled at her in encouragement and Allen plopped down ungracefully on her rump, bouncing slightly on the soft mattress as she stared at her mother with all the innocence of the world, as if expecting an equally sweet answer without the harsh taint of reality. "Will you see me with my crew and ship?"_

_Her mother faltered, but quickly brightened as she scooped up her daughter and held her flush to her bosom. Her heart beat, muted and alive. "Of course," she whispered, stroking the girl's hair._

_"Promise?" Allen demanded, fisting her small hands into her mother's nightgown._

_Felicia Walker smiled and kissed her. "Promise."_

_...she should have known better than to make a promise that she might not be able to keep._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_A year later, Felicia Walker, 27 year old, beloved wife of Duke Mana Walker, passed away when pirates attacked Sea Crest. Allen and Mana had been away to travel to the next two towns over when they swept in and plundered the town. Pirates were known for attacking sea side towns, but Sea Crest had not been prepared for it. Felicia was shot twice in the chest after stabbing a pirate who had burst into her home, but the pirate who shot her had run off with some jewelry he had found. She died instantly, but that pirate she stabbed was another story. _

_The pirates fled as fast as they had invaded, melting away into the shadows of the tide, escaping the sun's rising rays and the soldiers from a nearby town who had come rushing to the rescue. When Mana and Allen returned, they returned to see a wrecked town and their ravaged home, waters quiet and air solemn as a casket in white silk and blue braids of satin was carried down to the graveyard._

_The servants of the household wept._

_Mana wept._

_Uncle Neah wept, when he arrived for the funeral._

_Allen did not weep._

_How could she, when the fires fanned by hatred dissolved her tears and vengeance ran in her veins? _

_It was surprisingly easy to hate the people she had once stood in awe of._

_Now, there were only three wishes she had in mind: to annihilate the pirate who shot her mother, to punish the pirate her mother wounded who was now stuck to rot in jail..._

_...and to ride the seas in search of these murderers. _

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Ten years later..._

"Allen."

"..."

"Aaalleeeen."

"..."

"ALLEN!"

"God- dammitsonofa-" The curled lump beneath thick blue sheets sprang up and a girl with messy white hair and bleary, glaring eyes appeared. The strap of her green nightgown slipped from her shoulder and she pulled it up impatiently. "What. Neah?"

Allen's Uncle Neah smiled cheerfully, as if he hadn't woken his niece up from only three hours of sleep after a party the night before (Allen had had to wear a corset; she nearly died). "Today is going to be a busy day," he sang, striding towards the window and flinging open the curtains with _way _too much enthusiasim. Allen winced and squinted when the light hit her eyes and cursed, diving back under the covers as Neah continued.

"A servant has already been sent out to deliver a message to Cross to say you will be unavailable as his slaving apprentice this afternoon," Neah said. He snapped his fingers and maids rushed in to tug at the covers. Allen kicked their hands away with venom. "Why? you ask. Because Count Tykki Mikk will be visiting this afternoon."

_That _got Allen's attention.

Mercilessly batting away the disgruntled hands of another maid, Allen glared at her uncle from a crack in the sheets. "You mean that pedophile? That pervert?! Why the hell is he coming here?"

"Now, Allen," Noah scolded her. "Its unlady like to swear like that." Allen snorted and rolled her eyes before ducking under again, only to yelp in outrage when another heavy, older maid came in and forcefully ripped the covers from the girl's slim body. It had only gotten half way when Allen suddenly sat up and clutched at her sheets, struggling to wrestle them back from the fed up servant. Neah pretended not to notice.

"And Sir Mikk isn't a pervert OR a pedophile, he's just," Neah stopped. "Eh...affectionate." He coughed when Allen shot him a flat stare. "Yes, that's it. Affectionate."

"Overly so," Allen droned, only to scream when she lost the grip on her precious blankets and was revealed as a girl in only her undergarments. Neah flushed in embarrassment and turned away, clapping a gloved hand over his eyes.

"Oh, my virgin eyes," he moaned.

Allen sneered at him, scrambling off the bed to chase after the fleeing maids. "Virgin my ass," she scoffed. "You gave that up at the age of fourteen to a forty one year old woman with giant tits!"

Scandalized, Neah caught his niece by the arm before she could make a break for it and beat the maids. "Who told you?!" He demanded, forgetting to reprimand her for swearing again.

"Mana told me," Allen sighed, allowing herself to relax. She'd get those maids back later.

Neah sighed, too, and let her go, his lips taking on a gentle, warm smile. Mana had died of illness and a broken heart three years after the death of his wife. His passing was peaceful, but it just left Allen alone. The ten year old girl had showed no hesitation in greeting Neah's love and adoration for her with open arms when he moved in to the suddenly despairing household. "I suppose that would be just like him," he murmured, looking nostalgic. "Saying something that will get me back years later. Good man, my brother, and a good wife he had." He paused and looking down at his suddenly quiet niece, he softened. Gripping her arms, he looked her in the eyes with his brown gold ones. "We have to do this, Al, sweetheart," he whispered, hugging her tightly. "Ever since your father passed away, God bless his soul, we've gone bankrupt. And only Mikk had offered to help."

Allen blinked and pushed her hair from her eyes. "What's in it for him," she asked, slightly suspicious., "People like him don't just do this stuff out of the goodness of their hearts, Uncle. What does he want that you have?"

Neah bit his lip and looked at her. "Well," he began carefully, "You see, Allen..."

That's when a new batch of maids burst in, bullying Howard Link, Allen's personal bodyguard and her closest friend, into the room. The normally stoic man burned red when he saw his charge standing there in nothing but her nightgown and turned away quickly, braid of gold hair nearly slapping him in the face. _**Really**. When your own **hair** turns against you..._

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the blush as he stared at the floor. "I'm sorry to interrupt, My Lady, My Lord," he said stiffly, ignoring Allen's cry of, 'Just call me Allen!'. "But it seems Count Mikk has arrived early. The maids are ready to dress the Lady."

"Here?" Neah looked aghast. "Already? But they were to come in the afternoon." Distraught and fretting, he rushed past everyone and ran own the stairs, hollering up, "Get Allen ready! I'll distract them with small talk."

And that's all she wrote.

The maids (vicious creatures, they are) lunged for Allen and she howled and shrieked in protest as they whipped out the combs and ribbons and corset. Link practically galloped out, half to avoid the chaos, and half out of embarrassment.

"TRAITOR! COWARD!" Allen hollered before she was buried beneath puffy silks and maids with spilling bosoms.

Whoever said the life of a Duchess was glamorous was a dirty liar, and Allen relished the thought of slowly strangling said dirty liar.

**(Author gulps)**

"There you are, My Lady," a particularly plump maid puffed, winded from the struggle, as she surveyed Allen with delight and triumph. "All prettied up. You look as if you actually can act like a real Lady too!" She added. Unnecessarily.

Allen glared at her from where she stood. Dressed in a smooth, rich brown silk gown, with off white and light brown ribbons, tight around her small waist and flaring out beautifully, added with her lovely (painful) looking corset and her hair smooth and swept over her shoulder, decorated with braids here and there, she was the perfect picture of a young lady.

Which she really wasn't, by the way, in reality.

"Looks a lot like her mother, she does," stated an older maid, nodding her greying head approval. Allen stiffed momentarily before deflating with a sigh. She turned to the mirror, careful not to fall with her tight heels, and inspected herself. "Really," she murmured, running a finger down one braid. She sighed and let her hand drop, glancing at the photo of her smiling mother and father by her bedside. "I suppose I do." _Not as great as her, though, _Allen thought with great regret, but she didn't want to change who she was. Her mother told her to love herself for who she was, before loving anybody else.

All the maids beamed and Allen almost (note the almost) felt guilty for yelling at them.

_Almost._

Breathing carefully, she took her brown fan, with the gold designs and off white lace trimmings at the top. She really did look good, she had to admit. Brown and white had never looked so good on her. She would have probably enjoyed staring at herself in the mirror more, had not one petite, cheerful maid exclaimed, with hearts popping in her eyes, "_Oooh, Count Mikk will love it!"_

She stiffened. There was a shiver of foreboding drawing up her spine, but she gritted her teeth and snapped the fan closed. All she had to do was make small talk and tone down the curtness of her short questions and answers. Then they would make the deal with Mikk, give him what he wanted and get what THEY wanted, then he would be off and out of her life.

Allen nodded firmly to herself in the mirror. Yes, she quite liked that idea. Never seeing Mikk again was certainly not a tragedy.

Smoothing down a stray hair, she allowed the loose hair and few braids to be pulled back into a low, comfortable bun and left, the maids tittering behind her sweeping brown silk folds. She let her fan spread slowly and fanned herself. The sun would be setting in a few hours and while she was a bigger fan of sunrises, she was also content with sunsets. She would rather enjoy it herself on the balcony without interruption. The sooner she got this whole ordeal over with, the better.

Forcing the gentlest smile she could muster, Allen steeled herself for the onslaught of charming smiles and cologne followed by greetings as she walked down the stairs. She was met with the sight of a rather dashing Portuguese man with soft black hair, caught between a mix of curls and waves, sporting a rich tan with a mole placed delicately at the corner of his left eyes. Said eyes were a brilliant gold, but instead of warm and soft like the real material suggests, it was cold and sickeningly sweet, almost _too _charming. Allen suppressed a shiver and simply smiled as he looked up, dressed sharply in his well tailored suit, and greeted her.

"Ah, is this the beautiful niece you've been speaking of, Neah?" Tykki Mikk laughed, stepping towards the bottom of the staircase and holding out a gloved hand for her to take. "More of a gorgeous woman than the pretty young girl you've been boasting about." He pressed a light, yet lingering, kiss to the back of her hand when she took his. His lips seemed to burn through the fabric of her gloves, and behind him, Neah's smile slipped a little.

"Charmed to meet your acquaintance," Allen replied, pleasantly so.

"And well mannered, too," said Mikk, looking all too pleased.

He extended an arm to her. "May I?"

Allen slipped her arm through his, smiling as she laughed, "Of course."

They, meaning Allen, Mikk, Neah, and Mikk's bodyguard and personal servant, entered the lounge. Tykki seated himself on the love seat, practically forcing Allen to sit beside him, which she did so primly. Neah sat on the couch opposite of them, a small, glossy wooden table between them. Tykki's bodyguard and servant lingered to the side. Link and another of Neah's servants entered not a moment later. Link settled himself, alert and standing, near Allen, much to her quiet relief, and she sent him a grateful smile, to which he nodded back silently. Neah's servant left briefly to fetch the tea and biscuits, and returned with a whole tray full. He bowed and left quickly as Tykki, Neah, and Allen took their share of the treats.

As Allen bit into a buttery biscuit, she eyed Neah's thinned lips as he poured himself some tea, taking note of the stiffness in which he moved, not at all the light hearted, charming gracefulness Allen knew her exuberant uncle possessed. Though he was rarely nervous, Allen found herself realizing that his odd actions might be the to some indication of the case. Tykki made her nervous, yes, but to shake even her stubborn _uncle_ to this extent, was enough to have her reconsidering the chances of her possibly underestimating the man sitting next to her.

Allen's eyes narrowed and she swallowed hard, the biscuit tasting dry and ashy on her tongue. Or perhaps he's nervous because of _her. _He had no reason to be, but Mikk didn't come her out of the goodness of his heart, he came to make a _deal. _

A deal that she did not yet know the details of. A deal so horrendous it could possibly make Neah nervous for her _reaction _to it.

A horrible thought came to mind but she brushed it away. No. No, no, no. They promised her freedom and maidenship, a crew and ship to sail the seas. Even Neah had sworn to her this as he held her by the fire, a storm raging on at night outside the Walker Mansion. It was a time of peace and calm, as nine year old Allen struggled to keep her eyes open, a wary Mana dozing in the next room over with his own fire place lit. Neah's breath was warm and his voice even warmer as he hummed a random lullaby her composed on a visit to Japan years ago, before Allen was even born. She told him of her dreams, her plans, and he was understanding and gentle as he hugged her to his chest and she embraced him back, covered in a long, emerald green blanket as he promised her he would help make her wish come true.

Neah...Uncle Neah wouldn't break his promise. He had supported her after her parent's untimely deaths, through and through, unhesitant and unwavering, a constant bright light to Allen's slowly dimming, dismal world. She trusted him with her life.

He wouldn't marry her off.

But when he looked up, tired and worn, she suddenly noticed the lines around his eyes, how his hair was slowly losing its rich, brown-black luster. He seemed to have aged ten more years in a matter of seconds. And his eyes were dulled and sorry and pained as he looked at he, as if trying to convey that he didn't originally intend or want this for her, or any of them, but it had to be done because they were going bankrupt and he _didn't want her to suffer anymore and the streets were so unforgiving-_

For the first time in years, Allen felt like crying.

And he thought she would rather suffer in a life of luxury.

She rather suffer in a life of rain and trash and rags and _freedom_, because that's all she ever _wanted_.

She almost forgot to breath when Tykki opened his mouth after a leisurely sip of tea and said casually, "Now...to business. How much? I would like to have some money left over to spend on my bride to be."

A_ fucking_ bargaining chip.

It felt like she didn't belong her body anymore as she suddenly got up and clumsily set her tea cup down. She felt everyone's eyes flash to her and burn through her clothes as she hurriedly apologized, fumbling, _she had to go, not feeling well, you see_, and left. Link was after her in a moment, and he felt a wave of relief and gratefulness, but when they were at the stair case, she turned to murmur over her shoulder, "Please, Howard...not now."

He paused, looking torn, but eventually bowed and sighed. "Alright...Allen," he said. "Don't do anything reckless."

Allen smiled at him, a thick knot clogging her throat. "Spoken like a true friend," she whispered. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred as she offered him a shaky, watery smile. "I won't do anything reckless, I promise," she said. _And I keep my promises, dammit._

Link frowned, looking worried, but eventually gave in and nodded, before leaving to the lounge again. Allen stood there for a moment, staring after him with tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes and eyes, before she took a deep, shaky breath and fled upstairs. She slipped into her bedroom, wary of the maids, and changed, nearly ripping the bun from her hair and yanking off the corset without mercy.

She let the dress fall and pool around her feet, the silk folds rumpling as she stepped out of them and shook off the last bit of lace. She threw her fan on her vanity and shed her lace gloves, instead, pulling on a set of still elegant, but less fancy white ones. She changed into plain tan trousers and a blouse, slipping on a dark vest and finally a light brown wool coat and red scarf.

She slid her hair into a low ponytail with a red ribbon and opened the glass door to her balcony. A white fence rested along the wall just below her small balcony, riddled with grape vines, and she shot a brief look around before stepping off the platform and onto the fence. It trembled slightly under her weight, and she waited to let it steady enough for her to finish climbing down.

She dropped to the ground and hurried out of the garden, keeping her head low as she joined the lingering population on the streets as they gradually thinned out. The noise of busy people were slowly dying down, and she cut through alleys and back doors, jumping fences if need be, before she finally ended up at a small, well kept pub, with a large wooden sign dangling over the entrance, saying **_Ambrosia._ **She bit her lip and entered. It was noisy and loud, lanterns lit and beverages served thick and foaming but busty barmaids. The air was thick with smoke and loud with music, boisterous flirting, yelling, and drunken laughs.

She didn't bat an eye and slipped through the drunk crowds to the back. They either didn't notice or didn't care that she had wedged herself into the doorway of the owner's quarters, and was currently staring at a man with a red goatee and long, red hair, a big bottle of wine in hand with an even bigger ego. He was rambling proudly to a busty woman with thick red lips and long blonde hair, who seemed to hang on to every word her said with breathless anticipation.

Allen rolled her eyes, _passionately._

"Good evening, General Cross," she said as pleasantly as possible to the retired general of the Royal Navy. She continued like Cross didn't just cuss and nearly jump out of his skin from her sudden entrance, spilling some wine down the woman's breasts, who gasped and giggled, though Cross seemed too busy giving his apprentice (she wanted to learn to work so she would be better prepared on the seas, and who better than an old sea captain himself? Can you blame her?) the stink eye. "I'm sorry to interrupt-" no, not really, in fact, she was quite gleeful- "but I seem to have an extremely important problem and need your advice, oh wise one-" okay, can you blame her for being a little sarcastic here?- "and require your help. If just for a moment, of course," she added to soften the blow for the lady's sake, who merely giggled and sauntered out.

"Of course, little boy," she giggled, and Allen forced herself not to deck her.

Then she left, the door closing behind her. For a long stretch of time, there was only silence, until Cross broke it grumpily.

"I had a good lay about to happen," he grumbled, leaning back as he took a swig of wine. "What's so damn fucking important that you have to fuck with my fun time?"

_Oh, just about everything is more important than your sex life, _thought Allen with a hint of murder in her thoughts, but she clenched her teeth and fists to hold it back.

"Oh, wait, let me guess," Cross sneered, waving his unoccupied hand around. Allen noted the new rings on her fingers as she scowled and she spat in her direction. "I bet you're getting married," he jeered.

Allen's blood turned to ice. "Who told you?!" She hissed furiously, lurching forward. Cross stood, brushing her off and walking to the liquor cabinets.

"It's all over your pitiful face," he muttered, then paused and added, "Stupid."

Allen opened her mouth, but Cross cut her off yet again, effortlessly. Allen fumed, desperation itching beneath her skin. "And let me guess," he yawned, as though bored with this conversation. "You want out of it and are asking me for help." He turned and raised a red eyebrow at her, hazel eyes glinting behind the mask and lowered wire rims of his glasses. "You want me to take you away on a ship and let you run away from your life and responsibilities, let you run from your poor, lonely uncle...don't you?"

Allen snapped her jaw shut, shaking with fury and fear. Would he tell?

"Don't worry, kid," he said, as if reading her mind, and she stepped away as he shoved past her arrogantly to flop back onto the long, expensive, gaudy coach that stank of perfume and sex. "I won't rat on you. Besides, I'm not doing it. Everything will change tonight, and I have a feeling it will especially for you. Especially if you play your cards right, and without even noticing."

Okay, now Allen was confused. That, and Cross was a freaking mind reader and it was kind of creeping her out. "What do you mean by that, Master?" she asked.

Cross scoffed. "Shut up, and get out of here," he mumbled, a crazy, irate spark lighting up in his eyes. Allen ducked accordingly when he abruptly threw an empty wine bottle at her head, said bottle crashing against the wall behind her, and roared, "Out, out, OUT!"

That's enough insanity for one day, Allen thought to herself as she ran out, feeling even more helpless.

She found herself standing idle on the now empty, and darkened, streets, as she was basically shoved out of the pub from the thrashing, intoxicated bodies. She stumbled down the street, feeling dazed with the knowledge of no help would come, not even from Cross' crazy ramblings. She would be married off, promises broken and in shambles at her heels In the dark past as she went off with her perverted groom. Her stomach rolled unsteadily and she felt a lump of bile lodge, thick and sticky in her throat. She felt sick. Tonight was a nightmare, and she hoped she would wake up soon.

She should have known that said nightmare would become even worse when the pirates hit that very next second.


End file.
